Twilight Reloaded
by Bitter Apples
Summary: What happens when Tara Swan takes her sisters place? As it happens, not knowing is about two-fifteenths of the fun.
1. The Beginning: The Beginning: Day Zero

I wasn't entirely sure as to why I was moving to Forks in the first place. Granted, I came up with more than enough excuses to go (and to stay), but as of currently, all excuses were moot. I was moving to Forks, Washington, as there was absolutely nothing anybody could ever do to change my mind.

"You know, Bella, you don't have to go." My mother was pleading again. My mother looked like me, but with short hair and crows feet. She was a wonderful mother, even if somewhat brainless and flighty. She was a caring, nurturing mother.

Even if she did think my name is Bella.

But that was something I could forgive her for. Bella was her first kid, but she ended up in the psyche ward. Something about hallucinations, motorcycles and cliff diving. (Because her boyfriend left her.) But don't worry, she got him back. Edward Cullen was now a pink bendy straw from the cafeteria. Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

I ended up getting Bella's wardrobe as well as my own winter wardrobe (After all, she still isn't allowed to have shoelaces.) so my load was rather light. I waved goodbye to my mother and boarded the plane to Forks. After a long nap, a hop onto a different plane and a short nap, I was in Port Angeles, Washington, and Police Chief Charlie Swan was lying in wait. With his police cruiser, of course. Because he obviously wouldn't have any other mode of transportation. Which is moronic.

We stuffed my stuff into the trunk and I sat shotgun. I had to resist playing with the lights. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, beyond learning how to walk and pick between strawberry cheesecake and Indian food, but I digress. After a completely silent trek on the highway, we were home.

I hightailed it up to Bella's old room and began removing her cheesy romance novels and porn from the bookcases. After all, I needed somewhere to put decent literature. My next move was to remove the mattress from the bed, sheets and all, and shove the entire mess out the window. It was quickly followed by a lit match. Watching the sticky bed combust, I removed a foam mattress from a box. It wasn't much, but it was better than a bed that smelled suspiciously like puppies and disco. I made my bed and smiled contentedly.

I was starting to feel right at home.


	2. Day One: What a Way to Start the Day

I awoke to rain and the insistent chirping of my alarm clock. I rolled out of bed before donning socks, jeans, a T-shirt, as well as the usual sports bra. I could help but feel like I was forgetting something as I fell down the stairs to make breakfast.

Oh yeah. Shoes. Duh.

I carefully climbed up the slick wooden stairs to collect a pair of sneakers. I opened my door just in time to see a grey-and-bronze flash fly out my window.

Which was weird. I don't seem to remember my window being open. Ever.

So I put on my sneakers and occupied myself with making it down the staircase without breaking my neck, thinking no more of the peacoat-wearing flash.

When I finally made it down to the linoleum-and-yellow kitchen, Char- Dad was pulling eggs, milk, pancake mix, a whisk, a spatula, a frying pan and a large bowl covered in bright pink bunnies from out of the fridge.

"Why were there-"

"Bella kept anything she could fit into the fridge."

"Why is it still in the fridge?"

"Force of habit, I guess."

Due to the fact that pancakes were never Charl- Dad's forte, (and I didn't need anymore Frisbees), I forced him into a chair and proceeded to make pancakes. He contented himself with hiding behind his newspaper.

After they were done, I dished them up and we began eating. C- Dad offered me Bella's truck to take to school because I had such issues with controlling myself in the cruiser.

Sheepish, I glared at my cereal bowl. He had a point, even I had to admit.

Pancakes really were much better served in bowls.

I stole a glance at the clock. It was nearly time for school. I attempted to bolt up the stairs (to grab my hoodie and back pack) only to fall flat on my face. ("My kids are nuts" and a chuckle from the kitchen.) I clung to the rail and pulled myself up the stairs. Once I emerged from the stairwell, I began tearing the room apart in search of my hoodie, but to no avail.

Instead, I ended up in a powder blue sweater. I grabbed my backpack, slid down the stairs and waved goodbye to Cha- Dad before charging out the front door. Once outside, I took the spare key (over the door, flat on the frame) and took a deep breath.

Ah, oxygen.

Wrenching open the door to the rust red '55 Chevy, I took a whiff.

Peppermint. Tobacco. Puppies. Freesia. Disco. French fries. Musk, honey, citrus.

Interesting. Well, at least this old truck had a decent stereo.

After I found myself at the non-discript, hole-in-the-wall Forks Highschool, alleged home of the Spartans (it was right off the highway), the truck, Jim, was immediately surrounded by all 30 of Bella's old classmates. Which was all I needed. More people thinking I was Bella.

But I'll admit, my first step out of the car didn't really help matters. I somehow managed to step right on the edge of a puddle of motor oil. This step sent me going heels over head into the pavement. It hurt. I blacked out.

"BELLA!"


	3. Day One Part Two: What the Hell!

(( If I own Twilight, then I also own Star Trek. It occurs to me that I have neither. Just sayin'. ))

My head hurt. Like hell. Which is a lot, apparently. I tried desperately to figure out what happened. I couldn't think. Well, yes I could.

But it doesn't count. "Ow-ow-ow-ow-owwwwie. Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow." Doesn't count as a coherent thought. I shoot for coherency, people. I generally miss, especially after whacking my head, but that's my problem. Besides, we should all shoot for nice, coherent thoughts. I mean, if an alien was using some sort of bizarre ray to read peoples minds, effectively learning their earth-language of choice, it would be easier to understand the alien if it spoke properly and wasn't insistent that that a swing set is a food source.

But the point was, I was in pain, I couldn't think, and that's all you need to know.

After remembering that I have eyes and that they open (nifty it is,) I found that a rather anxious-looking Charlie Swan, Chief of Police, Waxer of Stairs, Fisher of Fish and all around pretty decent dad, was looking rather anxious, something that completely dovetails with the above statement.

"Tara, are you OK? I heard you took a pretty nasty spill." Dad had his eyebrows knit together.

From the next room:

"See, I told you she wasn't Bella!" A girl voice.

"Yeah, well, Angela, not all of us make a habit out of studying faces." Another girl voice. Higher pitched.

"They look just alike." A guy voice.

"They could be twins." Another guy voice. Higher pitched.

"Completely different." Girl voice. Angela.

"Guys, will you shut up? She's not Bella, the end." Third girl voice.

How many people were here?

Char-Dad noticed me looking behind him towards the other room and guessed what I was about to ask.

"Bella's classmates held a mass skipping to make sure you were alright. Seem to think that you're Bella." He chuckled. "But are you alright?"

"Dad, I'm young. I bounce." I smiled weakly.

"The bouncing of the young is completely debatable." A male voice. I looked over to see the man who, I assumed was Dr. Carlisle Cullen. But I was reasonably certain I was correct. After all, if this man wasn't Dr. Cullen, than what was he doing wearing his nametag? He was tall, and pale. His hair was a shade of platinum blonde, with a slight honey tint. He was quite handsome, classic good looks. But I came to ignore this in favor of a slight anomaly.

His eyes were golden. Not golden brown, not green-gold, but pure gold. I believe the words my sister would have used to describe them would be "melted topaz".

I managed to keep myself from staring, but my brain was stuck in a strange state. Rather like traveling at the speed of light and going absolutely nowhere. It just couldn't get over the color of his eyes.

He checked me over, made sure I didn't have a concussion and told Charl- Dad that it would be a good idea to keep me home today. I would be able to go to school tomorrow. Meaning I got to wait another day in suspense. But all of this meant nothing to me at the time. Not the twenty people in the lobby, not the fact that I would get a free day, not the fact that I nearly got a concussion. All that managed to penetrate my mental fog was his eyes.

What the hell was up with those eyes?


	4. Day One Part Three: You Can Google It

I didn't really get much sleep that night. I was a bit busy trying to figure out if it was humanly- or inhumanly, as the case may be- possible to have golden eyes.

That and it was an excuse to eat half of the snacks in Charlie's pantry. After all, there's nothing better than a sleepless night to use as an excuse to pig out.

I unleashed my Google prowess and began my search.

There were an abundance of sites dedicated to predicting eye color by way of genetics. Eye color charts so you can pick out the perfect color contacts. But I knew that Dr. Cullen's eyes weren't the product of contact lenses- if you look hard enough, you can almost always see the edges of the contact on the eye. His natural eye color- whatever it may be- would seep into the gold. At least slightly. And why would a 30-something medical professional be possessed to wear contacts that serve no purpose?

I was rather miffed as I sat there, stuffing my face with a bag of Cheetos. My search had not yielded the results I was hoping for- I was rather hoping that it would turn out that it was a perfectly explainable medical anomaly and that he was perfectly human and only had cold hands because of his profession. Then I could completely forget about this person until an awkward social event or a bodily injury.

But I couldn't forget about him, not while I was at a complete loss for answers.

And why was Bella so utterly… _obsessed_ with this family that she went nuts when they left? And why did they come back after she went nuts? Why do people seem to avoid them? How is it that it is physically possible to be that pale? And how do they possibly explain the number of cars they have and the impact that would have on the environment?

It may be due to the fact that I porked out before bed, but I had horrible dreams.

And the vaguest, strangest feeling that someone was watching me.


	5. Day Two: Pepto Bismol is Your Friend

(( I like applesauce. I don't like Twilight. I own applesauce, I don't own Twilight.))

I woke up in the morning feeling like P. Did-

Wait, no I didn't.

I woke up in the morning feeling like hammered poo. Too many snacks in the night. How many times was it going to take for me to figure out that midnight snacks always resulted in not-feeling-good-ness? And I know Charlie wouldn't let me stay home, not after yesterday. Dr. Cullen swore up and down that I was fine, so I must be fine. Besides, he'd probably claim it was nerves and shove me out the door.

After all, I need to get an education, right?

Well, according to America, I do.

So I got the hell out of bed and got ready for school before Char-Dad came in banging around pots and pans. The last thing I needed was a headache.

After choking on a toothbrush I slid downstairs, backpack over shoulder. I put it down next to the door and prepared a delicious and nutritious breakfast of Strawberry Poptarts and a freaking huge glass of OJ. I attacked my food and Charlie asked me if I'd been hanging out with the Quileute boys- apparently, they were champion speed eaters to the town of Forks. I laughed around a Poptart and choked on the crumbs ("Maybe you haven't…") and had to take a large swill of juice. After much hacking and acking, it was time for school.

I began regretting eating breakfast and stuffed a box of store brand Pepto in my backpack- I was going to need it.

I waved bye to Ch- Dad and climbed into the truck. I sat behind the wheel for a moment, feeling nauseous. I didn't understand why I was so nervous about school- it was, in all likelihood, the product of overeating the night before- but I couldn't help but to feel that school may have had something to do with it. I popped a couple of bright pink tablets and told myself to man up.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? The revival of disco?


	6. Day Two Part Two: In the Pink

((I don't own Twilight, it's characters, I don't own Stephenie Meyer. Which is good. However, just as Twilight is not for the faint of heart (or stomach), this isn't for the faint of stomach (faint hearts are fine, though.) But if the mention of barf is worrisome to you, then grab a bucket, loser, cuz we're going sparkling.))

I pulled into the parking lot of the Alleged Spartans, better known as Forks Highschool, feeling dismal. The Pepto hadn't kicked in yet, and I was certain that barfing was imminent- I just hoped I would be able to find a bathroom or trashcan in time. I didn't need a repeat of the infamous Bella's Christmas Ballet Recital Incident. (It was horrible. She never forgave me for getting sick in the middle of her performance after eating bad clam chowder.) I must have looked as green as I felt when I exited Jim (the truck) because Angela, or Girl-Voice-from-the-Hospital and First-Discoverer-of-my-Not-Bella-ness walked over to me and asked if I was OK. She had black hair, glasses and braces. She seemed friendly enough.

I told her it was probably just nerves.

"Seriously, though, are you sure you're going to be OK?" She was concerned. I was moderately shocked.

"The Pepto'll kick in soon enough, but can you show me to the bathroom? If I do end up barfing, I'd prefer it to be in a place with some amount of privacy." She cracked a grin.

"At least you have your priorities in check. C'mon."

I followed after her, starting to feel more and more like a lost puppy.

A lost puppy about to blow chunks, that is.

Thankfully, she made no effort to make conversation on our way.

Once we got there, I didn't pay much attention to the décor. All I knew was that it was the second thing I've seen today that happened to be the same, slightly nauseating color of pink. After tripping over someone's handbag, I flew into the stall and began praying to the porcelain god, Ralph.

Angela was kind enough to attempt to hold back my hair.

I'll be kind enough not to get into any details, but it was the third instance of a light red color.

But I felt better.

"That's… That's pretty Technicolor."

"Strawberry Poptarts and Cheetos do that to you."

"I'm Angela Weber."

"I'm Tara Swan."

"Does Strawberry Poptarts and Cheetos constitute a normal breakfast?"

"Only for Charlie."

"You look like you're feeling better."

"You have no clue."

She grinned and began dragging me along behind. Something about "introducing me to a few people".

"On second thought, I'm not feeling so hot…"

"Being social won't kill you."

"That's what you think."

We emerged from the building, walked across the foyer and re-entered the parking lot.

"It's Bella's twin!" A smiling Asian kid. At least he was irrational enough to look happy to see me.

"I certainly hope not." Blonde chick. "Edgy" haircut. Carrying the purse I tripped over in the bathroom.

"Well, she can't be all bad." Another blonde chick. Longish hair, athletic-looking.

"She could be just like Bella." Black kid. Good teeth.

"If she is, I'll kill her myself." Quote Allegedly-Edgy-Haircut-Girl.

"Lauren, no killing the new girl." Blonde male. With dimples.

"Yeah," I smiled warily. "No killing the new girl."

"Why? You gonna barf on me?" The "Edgy" Lauren.

"Were the tank not empty, I would be doing so."

"Aww, nervous?" Smiling Asian kid. He was kind of cute in a pick-him-up-and-carry-him-in-my-purse kind of way.

"Cheeto overload, actually." I grimaced. I think I'm off Cheetos for life. Which is too bad, really.

"Mmm, Cheetos." Smiling Asian.

"They don't taste so great coming up." Athletic Blonde. I'll admit, I was glad I didn't have to say it.

"Ah," Asian and Black kids "The Volleyball Incident gets brought up again."

"It could have nothing to do with the Volleyball Incident." Athletic Blonde was looking nervous.

"Jessica, it was the Volleyball Incident. You confided in me that that was the only time you've ever barfed Cheetos." Lauren was playing with her cell phone.

"It could have happened since then." I was perplexed. What was the Volleyball Incident?

"No, she hasn't had Cheetos since." Angela said quietly. "Jessica, permission to tell Tara what happened?"

"Fine." Jessica sighed. "If you won't, Tyler will, but without permission."

"So what's the Volleyball Incident?" My left eyebrow was reaching my hairline.


	7. Jessica's Voice: The Volleyball Incident

(( I don't own Twilight. But I own a puppy. And I'd rather have the puppy.))

I am the only one responsible for this retelling- if I hadn't mentioned it, then it would have lain, temporarily forgotten, at the bottom of the closet, under all of the skeletons. It may be almost comical now, but back then, it was mortifying.

But, I have one piece of solace- the entire affair wasn't my fault. The blame fell, in entirety, upon the annoyingly clumsy shoulders of Bella Swan.

I looked at Tara- she did look like her sister, but there were some key differences. First, her eyes weren't glazed over. Second, she wasn't drooling. Her mouth wasn't in a near-constant state of openness, she had an inkling as to what was going on. Her hair was more unkempt than Bella's, her jeans were ripped and her shoes untied, but at least she was able to move her facial muscles.

I looked over at Angela and sighed. "I might as well tell her. Time I got over it, anyways."

"Good for you, Jessica." She smiled kindly.

"It was the 5th of November, we were playing volleyball in gym. It's a sport that doesn't demand much- even Eric can play it." I gestured over to Eric so that Tara would know who I was talking about.

I could practically see the connection forming in her head.

"But Bella couldn't play it." Tara looked as if she had heard it all before.

"She was horrible. It was like she was playing for the other team." Mike sighed.

"She probably was." Lauren said.

"So you now have an inkling as to how bad Bella was at volleyball, so on with the story. It was a simplistic sport, and if you couldn't play well, you just stepped back and hoped the ball never went your way. Now, Bella would never, ever admit it, but on the first day, she tried to play volleyball." I had to stop for breath. As usual when telling this story, I had become breathless out of anger- she knew she was unathletic.

"I'll save you the gory details- they sold DVDs of them for $19.95 as a fund raiser last year- your Dad might have a copy. But- and I have no idea how she did it- she tripped three girls, got tangled in the net, she then untangled herself and retripped the three girls, and all four of them land on top of me. I hurl chunks all over the place and have two ribs broken." I grimaced- my side still hurt whenever I spoke of it.

Tara smiled apathetically. "If you think that was bad, you should have seen her at ballet."


	8. Day Two Part Three: Skip Slip

((I don't own Twilight. )) [[For anyone wondering about the fubar I had concerning The Volleyball Incident and the accidental forgot-to-upload-ness of In the Pink, I apologize. I literally had a calf and a half when I found out. For those who didn't notice, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. But The Volleyball Incident will make so much more sense if read after In the Pink. I Promise. I'll shut up now.]]

I was trying relatively hard not to giggle- it was just crazy and improbable enough that it most likely happened. Jessica looked like she wanted to crack a smile, but she wasn't quite there yet. Somehow, I understood completely.

"Now that _that_ is out into the air, Tara has somewhere to sit for lunch." Smiley Happy Asian Kid with No Discernable Name.

"I do?" I say, in unison with a mildly mutinous Lauren, hissing "She does?"

"Yeah. You can't expect her to make friends all by herself, not after the legacy Bella left her." Honest Black Kid Whom I Was Really Starting To Like.

"Well." Lauren grimaced. "She's… a _bit_ better than Bella. At least she isn't stealing boyfriends left and right."

"Never have, don't plan on starting." I tried to smile. Lauren just looked venomous.

"That best be true."

"C'mon, Tara, we need go get your skip slip. Class starts in four minutes." Angela was looking at her watch, and looked up shortly before saying "Bye, guys, we'll see you at lunch."

We were sent off by Happy Smiley Asian Kid doing an impromptu dance number.

"Isn't Eric cute?" Angela seemed embarrassed by this statement.

"Eric? …OH. Eric. Smiley Happy Asian Kid. Yes, he's cute." At last, Smiley Happy Asian Kid had a name.

I followed Angela into a building (named, of course, Building A) through a couple of hallways and into the office. The nameless secretary who didn't bother to introduce herself (Is it something in the air?) was a short, fat woman with fake red hair and piggy eyes. I obtained the Skip Slip, school map and parted ways with Angela right as the bell rang. Glorious.

I began running, full-tilt towards Mr. Banner's biology classroom, my bag hitting me repeatedly in the leg.

Obviously, this is gonna be the best day ever.


End file.
